


Long Before

by rivieradarling



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders (TV 1990), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied Violence, Italian Mafia, Mafia Family, Prequel, Thanksgiving, i think, idk how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivieradarling/pseuds/rivieradarling
Summary: Mina couldn’t bring herself to move from the cold window, to close the curtains, to look away.
Kudos: 3





	Long Before

_“Problems always start long before you really, really see them.”_

― Gillian Flynn

* * *

**November 26 th, 1959**

The trees raised hands to the sky, gnarled and black and grasping. Blood stained the snow. And Mina, almost thirteen years old, traced the windowpane with her finger. She couldn’t bring herself to move from the cold window, to close the curtains, to look away. 

It was the coldest November in Tulsa since ‘51 and would keep that title for the next 13 years. The kind of cold that took over your body and found home in your bones _. Nowhere near as cold as New York_ , momma had said. Aunt Carla agreed, _Remember the snowstorm the year Mina was born?,_ rousing the adults into a nostalgic craze. 

Mina tightened the quilt around her body, she didn’t remember much about living in New York. Oh, she remembered the city, that she was born in East Harlem, and Nicco too. Papa’s house in Long Beach. And the map of New York city Peter showed her, _from here to here_ , he had pointed to splotches labeled ‘Manhattan’ and ‘Brooklyn’ with a sharp smile, _we own everything, Mina_. Only once and never again. And even back then, she knew better than to question. Peter might be callous, but he wasn’t a liar. Family doesn’t lie, Daddy and Momma, Rocco, Nonna, and Galia told her so. And she knew it to be true. She stopped herself before her mind reached Maggie. 

The thick windows, bricks, and cherry wood didn’t stop the cold, it flushed her face with color, and numbed her nose. Mina observed the bloody snow again, the streak of bright red against brilliant white, then Galia’s voice filtered in from the kitchen and she tugged the curtains ‘til they were all she saw. 

Her little brother Nicco and cousin Nikki sat against the base of the couch, their kid limbs sprawled and lazy. They had deemed themselves too old for cartoons two years ago and instead watched a giant teddy bear balloon float down the crowded streets of New York City on the TV. A part of her almost stiffened, almost turned her head toward the window where bloody snow hid behind thick golden curtains. Her life would have gone a lot differently if she had. She didn't.

Mina sank to her knees, spreading the quilt over the kids’ laps in one fluid motion. Nikki tipped her head up, thanking her with a smile so radiant Mina couldn’t help but return the gesture, though not nearly as bright. Her brother hummed in appreciation, his eyes glued to the pageant queens on the screen. Then turned away, from the view of New York City, the shiny blue ribbon in Nikki’s hair, and the blood.

She ventured down the long, grand hallways of her grandparents’ house, the sound of her light footsteps and the faces in the picture frames her only companions.Nonna liked to keep her house bright and full of light. The halls flooded in a gentle orange glow from the numerous lamps living on the walls and almost every window was framed by bunches of curtains pushed as far as they could go to allow the last hours of sunlight in. But the kitchen was the brightest. The lightbulbs played with the sunrays, ridding the space of shadows and questions. It warmed Mina inside and out. 

The women in the kitchen aided the environment. Her mother, grandmother, aunts Carla, Letizia, and Maria, her cousins Galia and Catarina, in varying acts of preparation for the night’s dinner. Making pasta, preparing chicken and lamb for seasoning, chopping vegetables, baking, and glazing hams. Like acts of devotion. 

“Mina,” Nonna called, her mouth wrapping a smile around her name.

Mina wandered farther in, weaving through chairs and conversation to reach her grandmother’s side. The other women greeted her, her momma sending a smile her way before returning to her chopping board and tomatoes. 

“Could you prepare the antipasto platter, _mia ragazza_?” Nonna asked, throwing her wrist back to the golden platter atop the kitchen counter.

Mina nodded and made her way toward the refrigerator. She tugged at the handle, its weight offering some resistance, she tugged harder and was rewarded with the sight of a full inventory. Rocco and Galia had stocked it that morning, leaving a few paper bags out for the dinner preparation. A lonely, large paper bag caught her attention. It bulged with excess, Mina retrieved it with care. She toted it back to the island, accepting the cutting board and knives Catarina offered. She was mid-conversation, her big brown eyes twinkling with excitement. 

“He’s a sophomore like me, _zia_!” Catarina said, sweeping the strays locks of dark hair that fell over her eyes, leaving a bit of flour in her tracks. 

“It’s a miracle too, the kid got his brains in his biceps.”

“Rocco!” Catarina raised a flour-filled fist, ready to throw at the intruder. Aunt Carla made a soft noise of disapproval and captured Catarina’s fist in her own, flexing it lightly until the weapon fell in a clump on the workspace.

“Leave my boy alone, Cata.” Aunt Letizia cried, waving the tall boy over. He complied and received an almost sloppy kiss to his cheek. Though Letizia was known for her unwarranted affection, Rocco’s was well earned. He wasn’t sixteen yet, and already possessed the broad shoulders, stocky build, and height that marked the Santini men. But he revoked the stereotypes of his physique, as gentle and kind as Galia was beautiful and Catarina was innocent. His sick mother’s gentle giant.

Mina hummed, surveying an array of different meats and cheese from the paper bag. She chose the block of aged parmesan and began to slice away, the gentle banter and chatter soothing her mind. 

“Rocco, my love, where’s Peter?” Aunt Maria, Catarina’s mother asked, her brows pressed with motherly concern boys like Peter awakened. 

“He’s in Papa’s study, _zia_ ,” Rocco replied. 

It wasn’t a rare occurrence, but this was Peter’s seventeenth year, he’d be of age soon. Aunt Maria’s face fell, and something dimmed in her eyes. 

“He’s almost eighteen,” Aunt Letizia nodded, her arms loosening around Rocco’s frame. Her age asserted itself, she was the eldest daughter, witness to many initiations. The easy nature fueling their environment froze over. A shiver burst at the base of Mina’s spine and began a slow trip upward. 

The dark red sausage on Mina’s cutting board wiggled and spread, melting into a puddle, like blood. She snapped her head up, her eyes capturing Rocco’s warm ones. He’d be sixteen in March. When she turned back to the cutting board, the blood was gone.

Mina’s glanced around, seeking a response, a witness to the mutation, and found only tense silence. No one had seen. She brushed away a tear and returned to her work, the fact of fleeting life. The patch of bloodied snow raw on her mind.

Later, Papa would inadvertently confirm that she did the right thing. The family business wasn’t a woman’s place, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel to my fic Growing Pains!


End file.
